


Five Times Phil Coulson Cried

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: (kind of), Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Disability, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Son Relationship, Non-Graphic Torture, Oedipal Issues, Skoulson RomFest 2k15 REDUX, Torture, Wedding Night, my obsession with Coulson's mother goes on, skoulsonfest2k15redux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly what is says on the tin. Coulson cries.</p><p>Written for the Skoulson RomFest 2k15 Redux - Prompt: ghost pain</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Phil Coulson Cried

**one**

He's watching some documentary on tv with his mother. He'd normally be out, being Saturday night. But he didn't feel like going out tonight, it's starting to get cold and Manitowoc in winter blows and he feels too lazy to get dressed. He's also without a girlfriend for the first time since he's thirteen and that kind of blows too and though he and Janey parted ways amicably he doesn't feel like bumping into her on the town just yet. Plus his mom got the Saturday off work for the first time since... well, since he remembers, so he wanted to spend it with her.

They could have gone somewhere and she offered to take him to the pictures but Phil knows she prefers to stay home when she's tired.

So it's tv dinners in tv trays in front of the tv, both in their pajamas. Which is fun, in their own way. Like a Christmas morning or like they have been left behind by some natural disaster. They're a team, his mom and him.

They are watching some random nature show. Pretty depressing at first. About a baby gorilla who was born too weak and the leader of the pack, well, the _troop_ as the documentary said they were called, pushed him away from it and he was going to die because his mother couldn't take care of him. Phil thinks that's pretty cruel, and gorillas shouldn't be so much like humans in certain things. A group of scientists and volunteers took care of the baby gorilla, trying to find him a home. In the end a female gorilla from another troop takes him in, "adopts" him and he is safe among other gorillas.

It's some touching crap, he has to admit – the little gorilla is fine now and his new mother is all cuddly and sweet with him. Phil feels himself starting to cry at the sight of that. He doesn't know why. He didn't cry when the baby gorilla was left behind and in danger. It's just now when he's all happy and protected.

He tries to wipe the tears away quickly, all embarrassed, before his mother can comment on it.

Instead, he hears her laughing.

"Are you crying?" she asks.

"The baby gorilla..." Phil tries to explain.

Come on, that documentary was meant to make people cry. He's pretty sure of it, with the music and the cute animals cuddling. He's not to blame.

His mother keeps laughing.

He frowns. This is not normal parent behavior. That lady gorilla was much sweeter and that wasn't even her biological son. What is wrong with this woman?

"You're laughing at your own son, that's precious," he says, crossing his arms. " _Thanks_ , mom."

She grabs his face between her hands –rough, double-shift hands– and kisses his cheek.

"You're adorable," she tells him.

"I don't want to be adorable," he says, flushed, because he's sixteen, of course he doesn't want to be adorable.

She laughs harder.

 

**two**

He doesn't cry from the pain, while he's being tortured half-assedly by a goon who mistook his youth for softness.

He cracks some jokes at his captors. 

None of them funny but hey, this is the first time he gets tortured. He'll hone those skills if he ever gets out of here.

Of course he doesn't have any information – he's hardly a proper SHIELD agent just a fresh-faced Level 1 and this is how the hierarchy works. He doesn't know anything because he's not supposed to know anything. So no amount of beating is going to take that information out of him.

He's not supposed to be here, he thinks, a bit in panic, when the pain starts.

They were not supposed to go so deep into the compound, it was just routine surveillance. But John had pushed for a better advantage point and Coulson had let him, both eager to prove themselves on the field. John is older, more seasoned, he's in charge. He trusts John. And he escaped and maybe he went to look for help and maybe – maybe – 

Maybe is no good when you are being tortured. That much he knows. That much they taught him.

In Ops they train you to push pain down, down and away. And he's never been good at that. He got the scores, he can do the missions, because instead of pushing pain away he learns to bear it. But he could never manage the trick like other agents. Not like John. Not like that first year kid May. He just has to stand it. He figured as long as he survived – it's fine, it would work, no one can call him a bad agent. It's a different kind of trick, but right now it's getting harder and harder to do that.

But in the end he knows how slim his chances are. This is a secret, unofficial mission. That's why they chose a couple of rookies for it. Because they'd be easier to cut loose if anything went south. They're expendable, that's how SHIELD works. He's expendable.

Coulson, barely-Agent Coulson, he suddenly realizes how alone he is. Not just on the mission. With his teammate gone. With backup a distant, unattainable possibility. Not just that. Alone in the world. Without his mother. It hits him, when it's been over a year, how alone he is without her. And that's not something you wants to think about when some villain is prodding the already painful wound on your shoulder. You definitely don't want to think about your mom.

He's going to die here, he realizes. He's lost a lot of blood and he's losing the rest of his clarity. He's going to die here and no one on the planet is going to care.

Then he hears gunshots. A explosion pretty close by. Booted footsteps on the concrete.

Bodies falling to the floor.

Whose body? His? No, that can't be, he's tied up.

"Sir, in here," a voice says. It takes him a while to recognize it's John Garrett's. Good, he got out alive, at least. Or maybe he's hallucinating.

Boots running towards him, dashing to get to him. He opens his eyes enough to see Agent Fury kneeling in front of him.

Someone out of sigh is working on taking the handcuffs off him.

"I'm sorry," Coulson mutters, because the idea of having disappointed Agent Fury, after all the man has done for him, is a lot worse than the pain from his wounds. "Sir, it's my fault, I know I shouldn't have –"

"Quiet, soldier," Fury says as he checks the damage, his hands skimming over his body. Coulson himself doesn't know his condition. It could be nothing more than scratches, or it could be serious. He's sort of forgotten what they did to him.

He knows he's tired. That with Fury here he feels like he can finally rest. The ground feels soft under him, and he could just slip and – 

He feels his superior gently slapping his cheek, forcing him to look up again.

"Eyes on me," the boss tells him.

And Phil, well he's obedient, he got the scores, he always follows orders, he says whatever Fury tells him. 

His hands hurt so much he wonders if they work at all but it's okay, fighting against instinct because he'd die before wiping off his tears in front of Fury.

He's not alone anymore.

 

**three**

Not until he changes his clothes.

Not in Italy. Not in Zurich.

Not until he's back in the Bus and changes his clothes.

He'd like to say it's because of raw nerves, the whole night up – he didn't even sit on those waiting room couches, did he? He can't remember. He'd like to say it's the relief of having a moment to himself, without the rest of the team watching, the first one since yesterday, since...

He'd like to say his body needs a break, before his head can lay out the plan, before he realizes how far he'd go.

(he'd go anywhere, as far as it takes)

But it's none of that.

It's having to throw the shirt away, it's seeing _her_ blood on it.

 

**four**

They give him some privacy, clearing out the lab. Even the asistants and the interns get gone. The machine will take a while to map him and peel him open, so to speak, anyway.

"How long did Fitz say it would take?" Skye asks, either lingering or with no intention of leaving him alone.

Coulson is not sure how he feels about that.

He tries to keep still, the machine looking for useful tissue. It's a sharp pain right now, tiny flashes, almost like being tickled. Only really bad every few seconds, when it does the job. He's trying not to think about the details. He's a bit squeamish, he tries not to think about whta the needles are doing, and _why_.

"Depending on the damage, it will take longer, making the nerve connections," Coulson says.

Skye leans against the stretcher, fixing him a look. His whole body itches, the nerves in his arm strangely connected to everywhere else. The pain gets worse and spreads, which is a good sign, Fitz said, it means there's still tissue which can take the dock of his new hand.

"To be honest," Coulson says, trying to distract himself by talking, "the explanation FitzSimmons and Mack gave went a bit over my head."

Skye flashes him a smile. "Me too," she tells him. "College kids, uh?"

And maybe she's trying to distract him by talking too. But it's funny and she's sweet and it does make him feel a bit better.

She rubs the palms of her hands against her hips, looking away for a moment. "When Mike got his leg from Cybertek it was pretty brutal, but it was quick," she says.

"This is different," Coulson explains. "It needs more precision."

And he's admiring and proud of what Fitz and the rest of the team have come up with. They invented a robot just to make his new robot hand. Which is ironic, and probably wasteful, but also impressive. He often thinks how fortunate he is to be aided by such bright agents – then he remembers the reason FitzSimmons came to his team was not luck or his choice at all.

"Fingers," Skye says, making the gesture. "Got it."

"We're going for central wiring with this."

She understands immediately. "That's dangerous."

"It could be," Coulson says, lightly, feeling bad about piling his own fears and doubts on her, but who else does he have Pain buzzes in his ears and he's not sure what his voice is doing, how much it's betraying him. "But it's necessary."

Skye nods, unconvinced, and he himself wonders if it's necessary at all.

But he's done with people (or aliens) controlling his body. If this is a mistake, at least he's making it.

The machine touches a nerve, pun intended, and Coulson winces painfully, biting the inside of his cheek. Skye being here means he's not allowed to worry her, and he thought that would make things easier.

"You don't look so okay," she says.

He has to gaze down a bit, because her eyes are too big, too full of sympathy. It's one thing to know Skye cares about him, another to have proof it distresses her to see him in pain.

"I'm not... I'm not that good with pain," he admits.

"Who is?" she comments.

"SHIELD agents are supposed to be," he says. "I was supposed to learn all that in Ops. Push the pain away, clear my mind."

"Tried that," Skye tells him. "Didn't work out so well for me, if you remember."

Coulson struggles to give her a sympathetic smile, suddenly reminded Skye and him are scarily alike, even in the things they shouldn't be. He grabs the edge of the stretcher, curling his fingers around the metal until his knuckles go white. Skye follows the gesture, her gaze lifted to study his face.

"Hey," she calls. Coulson looks at her, following his voice to find her kind expression. "If you want me to leave. If you don't want anyone to see you like this, I get that."

He draws a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I don't want anyone to see me like this," he says. Skye starts retreating. "But I don't want you to go."

She nods, leans against the stretcher again, closer to him, without a word.

The worst part of it –and he had read the literature, and he had listened to other agents in his same situation talk about it– is that of course he can still feel the missing hand, each finger, and the pressure of the machine feels like someone is immobilizing him and Coulson has to struggle against the instinct of trying to pull himself free from an invisible attacker. He feels trapped, like the hand is still there but for some reason he can't move it.

The next time he tries to draw a breath –the machine has found a connection, tender and perfect for the job, and piercing right through him– it comes out as a quiet sob.

Skye still says nothing, and Coulson probably should apologize, as her boss, for the spectacle, for asking her to stay, for embarrassing her like this.

Coulson realizes: he wants to be alone. But he wants to be alone with _her_.

It's selfish and dangerous, but there it is.

He'll have to leave the nature of that revelation for some other day – some time when he is not writhing in pain and crying in front of his agent.

His right hand skims the surface of the stretcher, like it's searching for something. Skye finds it first, wraps her fingers around it and digs her nails into his palm, clutching tightly. Coulson wouldn't say it has a calming influence – pain doesn't work like that, crying doesn't work like that, and even Skye has her limits – but it settles him.

It's curious, and Coulson doesn't really know if it's the pain or Skye, but he feels no shame about this.

"It's okay," Skye says, slipping her other arm around his back, pulling him to her.

And he doesn't really have to push the pain away.

He just has to let it go.

 

**five**

He means to laughs as she pushes him on his back on the bed, he means to. 

Skye's eyes widen.

"No, no, no, don't cry," she says in a soothing voice as she straddles his lap, like talking to a baby or a small dog. Her beautiful short pale geen dress bunches around her waist as she settles over him and Coulson wants to touch the soft, simple fabric, remind himself it's real, it's all real, but right now he focuses on stopping his sobs.

"I'm not crying," he lies, gripped by some last-minute pride Skye will never buy.

Skye taps her fingers against his heart, worried. 

The sweet pressure of her weight on his body make it more difficult for Coulson to breathe and to stop the tears.

He's not sure what's come over him right now – right now that he finally, finally, _finally_.

"I thought you wanted to marry me," she says, offended, tapping her index accusingly on his shoulder. She's so close he can smell the cheap champagne that is all they could really afford for the event.

"I did, I do _I do_ , that why –"

 _Damnit, Skye_ , that's why he's crying.

But he was sure people only cried of happiness in the movies. That it wasn't a real thing.

"Then why are you crying?"

Skye is looking so sad for him. No no no he can't make his wife sad within three hours of their marriage. It's against the rules. And he can't make Skye sad. Ever.

"I'm not crying, I'm just drunk."

She grabs the lapels of his tux.

"Phil, Phil. Don't cry," she says, a little panicky, like she's to blame. "If you cry I'm gonna start crying too. You know I will. I cry if you cry."

Her big eyes look watery enough. _What have you done?_ Coulson asks himself. He grabs her shoulder – bare, god, that dress is so pretty, with the low cut on her back and the, the... – and tries to comfort her. But he keeps crying louder.

"I don't want you to ever be sad," Skye goes on, her voice already breaking. "I'm here to stop you from being sad, I'm so so–"

"I'm not crying," he argues away between tiny, drunken sobs. "I'm _happy_ "

Skye drops her head – the sweet pressure changes angle, reminds him this is their wedding night and he's spending it crying and alarming Skye instead of in her arms. Then he feels it – her body shaking, but it's not like when she uses her powers (though he was hoping she would _use_ them on him tonight), it's different.

She's laughing.

Coulson sits up a bit, grabbing Skye's face to take a good look.

"Are you laughing at me?" he asks, appalled.

He's pretty sure wives are not allowed to – oh wait, he doesn't think that's in the contract. And he wouldn't want Skye not laughing at him ever.

Skye touches his cheek tenderly.

"No, no, I'm not laughing at you. I'm happy you're happy."

She looks so serious when she says it. She looks so comical. They both must look pretty funny and hopeless right now, wrapped in each other and in a crying contest when they should be enjoying their wedding night.

"You're drunk," he tells her, like an accusation, like he isn't drunk as well, choking a sob because she has a strand of hair stuck to her cheek and she looks so pretty and she's such an amazing woman and she is here with him. 

He wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

Skye grins.

She drops her head again, sliding her mouth over his collarbone and his throat, wet and warm and familiar. Then she looks at him again.

"You're adorable," she says, so close that he can feel each word falling from her to him like a gift.

He frowns.

"What? You're not adorable?" she asks.

"My mom used to say that," Coulson explain.

"Oh. _Oh_."

"Yeah."

Skye tilts her head, a familiar gesture he'll never tire of. "Oedipus much?" she teases him.

Coulson laugh-sobs, a growly noise from inside his lungs. Skye laughs with him, hiding her mouth into the curve of his neck for a moment.

"At least I'm aware of it," Coulson argues.

Skye shrugs, rolling with it. "Well, it's a little too late now, anyway."

She lifts her head, gripping his wrists firmly against the mattress, killing the comedy and sobering up. She has him trapped, immobilized under him and Coulson finally smiles. He's fifty-three and he's okay with being adorable in Skye's eyes.

He realizes they haven't properly kissed just yet. They have, many, many times (god he's drunk), just not for some minutes now.

"Yeah, it is," he agrees.

It has been too late for a while.

Perhaps since he decided to track down a certain Rising Tide member. Perhaps even before that. (He _must_ be drunk, because he doesn't believe in those things, he doesn't believe in those things but then again Skye... then again today...)

She is looking at him like she wants to kiss him, he knows that look.

Coulson swallows like this is the first time they do this and they are about to cross a line.

He holds his hand out, brushing her hair away from her face. He holds his breath, inexplicably nervous about this, Skye making his heart beat so fast. Skye making his heart beat. 

She dips her head and he lets her kiss him.

He's not crying anymore.


End file.
